Farrell Hits "Home" in Story of
Family

If anyone needed proof that Irish actor Colin Farrell
was more than just another pretty face, they would need look no
farther than the “A Home at the End of the World.” Based on the
acclaimed novel by The Hours scribe Michael Cunningham, Farrell
is – quite simply – sensational. A breathy lamb lost amidst the
headlights of the world, the actor turns in a nuanced, tour de force
performance that screams Oscar. As good as he’s been in works as
varied as “Tigerland,” “Phone Booth,” “Daredevil” and “Minority
Report,” he outdoes himself this time, elevating a rather cluttered
(and slightly tired) narrative into a near-unforgettable experience.

The story
itself is a rather unique examination of home and family. Following
the emotional maturation of Bobby (played by Farrell as an adult), “A
Home at the End of the World” doesn’t concern itself with tidy
resolutions or easy answers. Instead, its focus is upon internal
exploration, the ability to discover and experience all ranges of the
human condition both within oneself and in others. Like Virginia
Woolfe, so well ahead of her time, Cunningham has the insight to
realize family isn’t necessarily a father and a mother but instead
sometimes made up by the people we surround ourselves with.

In the case of
Bobby, family is something he’s never gotten the opportunity to
experience. His older brother died tragically in front of his eyes,
while mom and dad both passed due to a heated combination of
heartbreak, depression and alcohol before he’s even finished High
School. Insinuating himself into the good graces of social outcast
Jonathan, Bobby soon finds himself another member of the boy’s family,
so much so his new best friend can’t help but become jealous when his
parents start treating the newcomer as more of a son than they do him.

Fast forward a
few years, Bobby is taking care of Jonathan’s (newcomer Dallas Roberts
as an adult) family while the latter has gone to New York City to find
himself. As circumstances change, the pair reunites in the Big Apple
and estranged friendship – and maybe something more – is
reinvigorated. It is here that Bobby meets Jonathan’s free spirit
roommate Claire (Robin Wright-Penn, “White Oleander”), a flighty
Bohemian beauty with plenty to teach this star-struck babe cowering
timidly beneath the big-city lights. Together the trio invents a new
kind of family, one that stretches the boundaries of normalcy, their
lives ebbing and flowing into one another’s with all the passion of
oceanic waves crashing ashore.

Having never
read Cunningham’s novel it is readily apparent from what is on display
here that it is a complex, emotionally charged piece of fiction daring
to touch on a variety of subjects from the benign to the taboo.
Spanning over a decade and taking us from childhood innocence to a
young adult’s owning up to responsibility, there is a lot going on;
far too much for one 95-minute motion picture. Too often the author
and Tony award-winning director Michael Mayer (“Thoroughly Modern
Millie,” making his theatrical debut) rely upon music video montage
and pap emotionalism to get their points across. Characters appear,
have a moment or two of importance, and then suddenly disappear and
are promptly forgotten while rocker Duncan Sheik’s oppressively
maudlin score moans incessantly.

No more is
this evident than in the performances of Sissy Spacek (“In the
Bedroom”) and Matt Frewer (“Dawn of the Dead”) as Jonathan’s
understanding parents. It’s not that both are actors aren’t any good –
they’re borderline fantastic – it’s just that they have so little to
do that’s not a cliché. Frewer’s big scene consists of a father-son
chat with Farrell where he implores the young man to get out and take
advantage of the wide world in front of him. It is a testament to both
that this scene comes off as well as it does – it really is an
inspiring moment of introspective evaluation – for as staged it
shouldn’t even remotely be of interest.

Spacek does
fare better, Cunningham and Mayer giving the veteran actress moments
where she can’t help but shine even if they do tend to dip into the
contrived. Priceless bits include a clandestine marijuana session with
the two boys and a late film monologue where she talks openly about
her life and the dreams that might have been. Best of all, a scene
with a teenage Bobby where she resorts to teaching the youngster how
to bake because she just can’t find the words or the emotions to
explain her feelings about what she’s discovered he and her son are
doing in the dark. It is a poignant, powerful moment, and shows Spacek
at her best, the actress delivering both sparks and tears with a
simplicity that transcends celluloid.

Yet, for all
of the filmmaker’s flubs, they get so much right and the performances
by the trio at the center are so good these flaws dissipate like
morning dew. New York stage actor Roberts cuts a pained, tragically
biting figure as the elder Jonathan. Even when Cunningham dips into
the AIDS well, the actor rises above the ordinary and takes the
character into fresh and unexpected terrain I really didn’t see
coming. Meanwhile Wright-Penn is extraordinary as Claire and I hope
Oscar finally takes notice nominates this superb actress. Her moments
of sexual exploration with Bobby, her uncontrolled giddiness so
fluidly mixing with respect and astonishment when she realizes he’s a
virgin, is wondrous. It is as if she has an internal, instinctive link
to the character going well beyond the norm, Wright-Penn doing more
with a teary-eyed glance goodbye than most actors do with a histrionic
speech.

But, in the
end, this is Farrell’s film and he runs away with it like a lioness
protecting her cub. Bobby’s evolution from needy usurper of love to
patriarchal father figure is astonishing. So good, so utterly precise
is he in the role, I cannot imagine another trying to take it on. This
performance is a thing of magnificence, the type actor’s dream of
giving yet so seldom do, and if nothing else the movie resonates in my
loins because of it.

There are
numerous other charms, however. Despite the choppy narrative, Mayer
knows how to stage a scene and there are moments of such potent
vibrancy I could feel chills run up and down my spine. He and
cinematographer Enrique Chediak (“The Good Girl”) have a relationship
so symbiotic it’s frightening. From images of a canary yellow Claire
painted against a dusty Arizona landscape to the sight of Bobby and
Jonathan dancing atop a New York city roof, images here will linger in
my memory for quite some time.

If it isn’t
perfect, “A Home at the End of the World” is still an unforgettable
experience if only to see such a group of gifted actors – especially
Farrell – transcend the script’s unfortunate limitations. Filled with
poetry both audio and visual, this is a film I can applaud and
appreciate for it is willing to take chances and showcase performers
outside of their comfort zones. If family is something you create, not
just a thing you’re born in to, than this is one movie worth getting
engaged to.